


Selfish

by FireDancer



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 20:58:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4760777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireDancer/pseuds/FireDancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Steve found Bucky he had to let him go again, at Bucky's request, but circumstances have him breaking his promise not to get in contact with his best friend.  He doesn't plan to send it, but Bucky deserves one last letter before the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Selfish

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for a dear dear friend who requested Steve writing Bucky a final letter for her birthday, because she's evil that way. The nature of the prompt ensures that it ends with at least the possibility that Steve is dead, but I left it ambiguous enough that you can interpret it however you like, because I wasn't going to flat out kill Steve, thank you very much.
> 
> There is a second fic in this series that she wrote me for MY birthday that is Bucky's perspective, which I will link to as soon as it's posted because it's brilliant and beautiful and she is so damned good at Bucky's voice.

Steve’s hand kept shaking. He couldn’t write until it stopped, not if he wanted the letter to be legible, and he couldn’t just start over again if it got too bad to read. For all that some things were the same as they’d been in 1942, in this it wasn’t paper that he was rationing, it was his strength. He couldn’t get through this more than once; every letter counted.

Carefully he took a measured breath and forced his hand steady enough to start, his penmanship still jagged and rough compared to his usual neat loops.

_Bucky,  
I know that you didn’t want me to contact you first, and I’m sorry about that. It was your choice, first you got to make in a long while, and I want you to know that as much as it hurts, I’m proud of you for it. I do respect the decision you made, which is why I haven’t written before now; but I wanted to… No. You know, I’m not sending this. You’ll get it when you come back, and I hope you aren’t too sore about it._

_I wish you’d seen Tony’s face when I asked for this paper and a pen. He looked like he was chewing on a lemon, but he got it anyway. I guess even someone who loves technology as much as he does understands that sometimes it’s good to have something to hold on to. Thing is, Buck, this is the last letter you’re going to get from me, and I want you to be able to keep it, or burn it, or whatever you need to do. It’s yours now, and that’s your choice too._

_I hope you’ve started to remember. It’s selfish, but I guess if there’s ever a time when someone’s allowed to be selfish, it’d be about now. I don’t want you to remember what they did to you, or even the war, if you don’t want to, though we had some of the best friends a man could dream of and they deserve to have someone remember them. It’s the little things I hope you haven’t lost completely, like braiding ribbons in Becca’s hair and curling up on the fire escape with blankets in the spring, just listening to the Smiths’ radio through the window and whispering back and forth about our favorite parts. I hope you remember your mother’s bread and the way my mother would sing us to sleep when we were small. Remember Coney Island and the fortune teller who assured you that you were going to marry a beautiful blonde someday but you wouldn’t wear a ring and how offended you got that she thought you might be unfaithful. Remember taking Becca’s friend Alice to the dance because no one had invited her and she was heartbroken, even though she was five years younger than you._

_I want you to remember so you know what a good, strong, kind man you always were, but in case you don’t, I’ll tell you. You’re the bravest man I’ve ever known Bucky Barnes. You’re a hell of a fighter, but better than that, you’re gentle and compassionate. You never once treated me like I was weak; or less than you because I was sick. I’ve never been good at accepting help, if you remember me more, you’re laughing about that right now, but you didn’t pity me, and that helped. Sometimes I needed someone to give me hell about something I’d said or done, and you were never afraid to, but you always supported your friends where it counted. I was always a better man because of you Bucky; I couldn’t have done half of the things I did if you weren’t beside me._

Steve paused, his hand shaking again, and looked at the pages through bleary eyes. It wasn’t everything he wanted to say, it wasn’t even close, and he couldn’t fail Bucky in this too. Jaw going tight with determination and sheer stubborn idiocy, he pressed a button on his IV, letting the pale green concoction that Bruce had come up with enter his veins. It was supposed to be a cure for what had happened to him, but it had only given him a surge of strength and clarity for ten minutes and then knocked him out for two hours. Bruce had cautioned him against using it except in an extreme emergency because it affected him so strongly, but what did that matter if he didn’t have the strength to tell Bucky everything he deserved to know?

The drug hit him like a hot wave and he closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddery breath before he picked up the pen again and determinedly put it to paper, willing himself to finish before his time was up.

_I guess since I’m not sending this, you know why I’ve written it already. I swear Bucky, I’d never bail out on you if I could stop it, but whatever it was they hit me with, it’s torn me up pretty badly. I still say Tony just about fainted when he saw me back to the way I used to be, though he denies it. We thought that was it, at first, but then I started getting sick and…_

_Well I guess it’s selfish to say this too, but I just wanted another chance to talk to you, even if you’re not really here. You had good reasons to go, and I’ve never been angry with you about them. You were right, you couldn’t figure out who you are now when I kept expecting you to be who you were. Nothing they made you do was your fault. I know that probably doesn’t help much, and this might not either, but in case it does: I forgive you. You’re a good man Bucky Barnes, and you’ve suffered more than enough already._

_I hate that I can’t say goodbye properly. I miss you so damned much it hurts more than dying, and no one can accuse me of being dramatic when I say that now, because I’d know._

_I’m sorry, I know, that was awful, I shouldn’t’ve written it but I’m so tired and it’s all so ridiculous. I made it through everything and this is what’s going to bring me down. It feels like a bad joke. But at least I can go remembering that I had you, the best friend a guy could ask for. Bucky… I’m sorry but I’ve got to be selfish again, just one more time. I love you. Always have. I know it isn’t the sort of thing you ever wanted to hear, which is why I never said, but… I guess it isn’t entirely selfish to want someone you care about to know that at one point someone loved them more than breathing, and I did. I do. There’s nothing that could stop me from loving you, not even dying. I don’t know if God’s going to let me into heaven, but if He does, I’ll stay with you until we can both walk through the gates together. You’ve followed me since the day we met Buck, now it’s my turn._

_I know you, you’re going to be furious with me, and then you’re going to feel like it’s your fault, like you should have been there to watch my back, but I want you to know there wasn’t anything you could have done. Some things are meant. I think I’ve been living on borrowed time for a long while anyway, and my number’s finally getting called._

_You’ve always been the best thing in my life, and I’m so grateful to have known you, before the war and now. You’re going to do amazing things Bucky, and when you’re done, I’ll see you again._  
All my love, ‘til the end of the line,  
Steve 

Carefully writing Bucky’s name on an envelope, Steve didn’t so much put the pen down as it fell out of his grip onto the blankets of his hospital bed. It didn’t matter now, so he ignored it, using the last of his artificial strength to fold the letter and put it into the envelope. Bringing it to his lips he pressed a kiss to the paper, his cracked lips leaving a thin smear of blood behind as he murmured, “I love you Bucky. I’m sorry.”

When Sam came to check on him five minutes later, Steve was still and quiet, the envelope held close against his heart.


End file.
